-- 'Sup, boyz and girlz. I'm sitting here in the OAC lab at Math
Sciences with their lame clickety keyboards because the stupid CLICC lab
is closed until 1. Oh yeah, I'm sitting here cuz' Jimbo Kimbo was
cool enuff to come by at 6 this morning and take me up here on his way
(or out of his way) to work in Santa Monica. Everyone thinks it's
recockulous for Jimbo to commute from C-Town to Santa Monica everyday (at
least an hour with traffic) for a job he hates, but hey, at least now I
don't mind. This morning I woke up at 5:50 so I hopped in to take
a super-fast shower, only to realize I'd forgotten my towel, so I had to
dry myself with the undershirt I'd worn to bed. (Don't get too excited
-- everyone may take their hands out of their pants now). When I
was in the shower, I missed James' page that told me he was gonna come
and pick my ass up, so I had to dress real quick. The problem with
that, as I have now learned, is that today is an exceptionally cold (for
LA) day, and it's going to be raining throughout the day as well.
So in my haste I didn't consider the weather forecast, and I'm in my chollo
gear -- white tee, hat, baggy jeans -- and I'm in danger of freezing the
fuzz off my nuts whenever I step outside. I also managed to take
my umbrealla out of my backpack before I left, figuring I wouldn't
need it. HAH!
My weekend o'fun didn't materialize quite the way I had expected it to. Friday nite I saw Primary Colors (pretty good, needed more honeys), then a bunch of us went to Marvel Mania restaurant on Universal Citywalk. It turned out to essentially be a Marvel Comic-themed Planet Hollywood-like eatery. So, natch, it had overpriced, bland food couples with bad service and a very tacky decor. The drinks all come in what are basically beakers (and, according to Jimbo, not the good beakers, either). Spider-Man was their though, walking around, shaking hands, and doing a Norm McDonald impression. I was in rapture, and actually managed to sucker the minds of James and Winston into cool, geeky comic book debates. But anyhow, the place was sort of disappointing for everyone else, and the service and food especially sucked -- that's what I get for listening to a restaurant review from a comic book magazine. Winston was doper than hell and paid for it, so that relieved the burden of it all. Well, not for Winston, but for me at least. And I'm what's important.
Afterwards I made the startling discovery that I can not drink after eating. There's simply no room in my stomach for booze (especially after eating an Incredible Hulk Burger). My recent bulimia craze hasn't really helped me stuff consierably more booze into my stomach either. I kept that in mind the past few nites when, disappointed by my inability to drink heavily on Friday night, I tried to remedy this by drinking heavily the past several nights without eating a lot beforehand. I've drank mostly beer, much of it at Cliff's Hideway. Da boyz like it cuz it's cheap and the bartenders are cool, but the place has no honeys. I asked Ray last nite if he'd ever seen any. Nada, he says. Except for Vodka Girl, this caucasoid, straight-vodka pounding female. She reportedly went home with a black guy the other nite, and since once you've had black you never go back, I'd say Ray's shot at her is Slim and None, and Slim booked to Brazil last week. Gotta find a place with cheap booze and honeys, although it's entirely likely such places simply do not exist.
BTW, the return of beer to my system has also marked the return of Haole's super-noxious farts. You've been warned, unlike the poor souls caught in the same room with me. Oh damn, there goes another one. Silent but deadly.
Oh yeah, so now I'm living at Ray's place. Well, it's his mom's place -- he just lives there. I burned myself on some grease from a plate of beef his mom made yesterday evening. Freaking thing left a button-sized blister on my left index finger. They don't even have any Band-Aids! Not that'd it matter as far as helping the healing process, but at least I could wear it and people could ask me what happened. "Ray's mom burned me!" I would cry out. As it is, I'm reduced to trying to show people, and they say they don't see it. Unsympathetic bastards.
On one of the recent nights when I was imbibing, Ray once again succeeded in badgering me about relationships and getting some. Once again I nodded along, debating some points but basically unwilling to challenge him too much. It's hard to put up much of an argument about why I shouldn't be getting any when I'm 24. Being drunken didn't help my debating skills. What I realize when I see a hottie and get an inkling to go say something to her, it dawns on me that I have no idea what I'd say to her, or how I could carry on a conversation with her. Sounding like an idiot to a girlie one is interested is a bad thing. I sound like an idiot when I order tacos. All the bullshit that I hear then from whoever is sorta useless if I know I sound like an idiot. And now I've got Ray riding me about getting some from ugly chicks. Whatever. When Ray gets some from ugly chicks, then I'll think about it. People have been riding me about getting some constantly since I was sixteen, and the object of my affection was Joanne Miura. Still not working, fellas.
Would someone please release a movie to knock off Titanic? It was a good movie, and won all those Oscars, but may it please go away? It's starting to get more-than-a-little silly now that it's #1 for what, fifteen straight weeks? Lost in Space will take it out this weekend, but it looks too damned campy for me to enjoy. Primary Colors was OK, and, very surprisingly, so was Wild Things, but I don't see anything out there that I'm gonna be enjoying anytime soon. Yeah, Wild Things was a good little teen flick, with all the ingredients a film needs to be great -- lesbian sex, male frontal nudity, violence, and Bill Murray. I love Bill Murray. (Minor spoiler ahead) Ooh, and I just read something neat (Yes, I know I just link to the IMDB. I can't help it, I love it, too.
Dawned on me that Ishould put up a "locations" page to sort of explain and describe all the locations I refer to here. Something to keep in mind...
Believe it or not, the reason why I'm here on campus is not to spend all day updating stark raving mad. Nor is it to poison everyone in the lab with my farts. It's actually to get some job-hunting done, so I think I better go and do that now. Job hunting is a painful process for me. For an explanation of why, here's Nicole with a recent discovery she e-mailed me:
And here's something interesting: it looks like people with depression may have decreased pre-frontal cortex activity, resulting from a lack of slow-wave sleep; this brain region is responsible for planning, attention, goal-directed behavior, etc. I was thinking it would be a nice neurological explanation for why depression makes it tough to plan and initiate things like getting a job--in addition to the negative thinking.Hmm, isn't that lovely? I wonder if banging my forehead will awaken my brain and stimulate pre-frontal cortex activity so I can go and be more active in looking for a job. I'll try it...somewhere private.